


Bedroom hymns

by DamadiSangue



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst, Dominance, F/M, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamadiSangue/pseuds/DamadiSangue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A split lip - dripping, swollen.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Alex observes the water turn red, spirals that caress her breasts, her throat.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>She meets his eyes, reading the same question of when it all started.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedroom hymns

Disclaimer: Albert Wesker, Alex Wesker and all other characters belong to Shinji Mikami, Capcom and those who hold the rights. The plot described here represents the author's copyright ( DamadiSangue )

 

"But the horror? The horror was for love.   
The things we do for love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret.   
This love burns you, maims you, twists you inside out.   
It is a monstrous love, and it makes monsters of us all."  
\- Lucille Sharpe, Crimson Peak -

 

  
**Bedroom hymns**

 

  
**#1 day - This is as good a place to fall as any.**

Secrets are hidden truths.  
They crawl under the skin, around the organs - _strangle_ them with their venom.  
Blasphemous and mercilessly snakes, secrets lie in the shadows, escape the suddenly sun like an unexpected spring ( _a revelation._ )  
Alex reclines her head, _cuts_ the skin of his back.  
A groan - a weak meow.  
Albert _grabs_ her thighs, opens her wider  _under_ him - for _his_ lips, _his_ tongue.  
Alex _laughs_ , and it's a mellow sound, soft.

_Sticky._

Every other word dies when the first orgasm crushes her heart.

 

**#2 day - We'll build our altar here.**

Relentless in life, between the sheets.  
Albert Wesker is one of those men you wouldn't want to meet, much less finish in bed with him after have looked in his eyes.

_Slit to hell, unknown abyss._

She touches him with _her_ mouth, _her_ hands.  
Wesker _resists,_ hates _collapsing_ to his knees.  
Alex opens her fingers, closes them around him.

**Ah.**

She slips with her tongue along his entire length, feels _him_ pressing into her mouth.  
Albert claws her hair and _comes._

 

**#3 day - Make me your Maria, I'm already on my knees.**

The phone flashes from the edge of the table, quiet.

_4:23 AM_

"Show me." he says, and Alex _bites_ (herself.)  
"Don't be afraid." he reassures her, and it's like hearing the silence.  
"Go on." he incites - _presses_ \- and Alex sighs over his mouth, touching herself between her thighs - _wet._  
Albert kisses her ( _eats up_ ) without shame, without absolution.  
Her breath shortens, Alex sinks in herself to the rhythm of his promises (of _what_ he will do, _how_ he will do)  
He supports her by the back of her head, listening to her orgasm mounts and _then_ goes off.  
Alex searches for his eyes, his lips.

_Look at me._

Albert smiles (bares his teeth) and licks what remains of the total surrender of a god.

 

**# 4 day - You had Jesus on your breath and I caught him in mine.**

She knows how it started, not how it will end.

 _"And these?"_  
_"We can control them tomorrow."_  
_"No, better do it now."_

His hands on her hips, the wall behind.  
He had removed her shirt, raised her skirt - blood ( _fate_ ) calls.  
Albert was a bite on her shoulder and an unexpected orgasm, almost painful.  
He had raised her, gripped her knee with such force that Alex had almost heard the joint dislocate.  
She had pressed her fingers on his jugular, picturing his blood under the nails, on her mouth.  
Albert hadn't slowed, hadn't shown uncertainties.

_Not even when she had knocked him on the floor and had arched above him, taking away his breath for the recoil._

A challenge, a war.  
Sex becomes a battleground, an incorrect and slippery arena.  
_Bow down_ , told her his eyes, still blue _crushed on me - **for** me._  
_Never_ answered those of Alex, but it was a poor lie, because truth _dripped_ through clenched teeth, between her parted thighs.  
Albert shifts under her, changes position, leads her on four, showing him her back - hands _so_ obscenely open on the floor, the pale curve of her spine stretched beneath him - _impatient._  
She welcomes him in one push, _calls_ his name in a single breath.  
Alex closed her eyes and ~~loses~~ wins everything.

   
 **#5 day - Sweating our confessions, the undone and the divine.**

A split lip - dripping, swollen.  
Alex observes the water turns red, crimson spirals caressing her breasts, her throat.  
She meets his eyes, reading the same question of when all started.

_Why?_

Alex would tell him the truth.  
She would like to tell him the story of thirteen children extorted from their families - some bought, others simply _torn._  
She would like to tell that _this appetite_ has nothing of human; that the Progenitor already whispers in his veins and _this_ is its song.

_She would._

He brushes her ankle, back along her calf.  
"A penny for your thoughts."  
Alex tilted her chin in his direction, immersed further in the bathtub.  
"My thoughts are _too_ expensive for only a penny, Albert."  
Wesker curls his lip, baring his teeth.

_Fingers on her throat, down her chin._   
_His thumb stroke her lower lip, demanding her surrender._

Alex _sinks,_ holds her breath.

 _She bites him, until she feels his blood on her tongue, against the palate._  
_Until she feels herself wet between the thighs - until he breaks your heart._

She emerges and closes her mouth - _dripping_ water **and** blood, life **and** death.

_A sudden movement of his hips, feel him so deeply - an embrace **and** a punishment._

Albert gave her a sidelong glance, runs with his eyes along her body.  
Alex smiles and exits to the bathtub.

   
 **#6 day - Because this is his body, this is his love.**

He gives her his back, talking on the phone with Birkin.  
"No, it's nothing serious."  
Legs slightly spread apart, he is illuminated only by a night full of horrors - no moon, no hopes.  
"No, William, I haven't contracted the T virus; I would not be here with you to talk about if I did."  
Alex leans her face in the palm of her hand, feet dangling in midair.  
"Flu, Will. Banal flu."  
Birkin has to answer something that irritates him, because Albert rolls his eyes and contracted his jaw.  
"It happens to the best; I trust in your ability in the laboratory."  
"It will explode." Alex murmurs, and Wesker replies with a not amused look.  
"What?"  
Alex pushes aside the sheet, approaches him.  
Albert listens in silence, stretches a corner of his mouth.  
"No, I don't know where the Dott.essa Fayer is."  
Alex caresses the space between his shoulder blades, her tongue on every single vertebra.  
"Uhm, disease. Obviously we were infected by the same strain of flu."  
Alex laughs in the curve between his thigh and groin, the sound muffled by his skin.  
He sighed, exasperated. ( _excited_ )  
"I don't know, William; most likely all the crap you eat will kill you with cholesterol and not with flu."  
He is already hard when she touches him with her lips, already stretched between her hands.  
"In a few days, Will. When the fever allow me."  
He _chews_ the words, maintains control.  
"Sure, I will. See you tomorrow, William."  
He closes the phone, lifts her to his height.  
" _You_."  
Alex smiles and offers him the tender crease of her neck.

 

**#7 day - Such selfish prayers and I can't get enough.**

She didn't need to tell him.  
The virus has whispered to him between his synapses, along the fibers of the muscles, in biochemical receptors overexcited.  
Alex chews in silence, savoring the taste of the meat on her tongue.  
She is naked at the table, one knee folded under the chin and the other foot dangling on the floor.  
He doesn't ask if she likes it, if that's what she wanted.

 _He already knows the answer._ The Progenitor _knows._

He lengthens the pot to her when she trying to steal a handful of mushrooms, just an hint of an amused smile on his face.  
"Maybe we should get dressed."  
Albert cuts another piece of meat, so rare to seem still raw - _alive._  
"Outside is snowing."  
He throws a casual glance at the window, giving only a few seconds on the horizon white and gray.  
"By the way..."  
He raises an eyebrow, puts aside the knife.  
"Where _the hell_ are my clothes?"  
Albert frees a laughter that is _almost_ offensive.

 

**#8 day - Spilled milk tears, I did this for you.**

He runs his hands through her hair, leaving them spinning around his fingers.  
He grazes her shoulders, her neck; tilts her against his chest, tightens her chin between his thumb and forefinger.  
"Look."

_Look at us._

Alex opens her mouth ( _waiting_ ), sighs against his fingertips.  
He spreads her thighs, kisses her on the neck, between the shoulder blades, down the side.  
"Alexandra." he murmurs, and finds her already wet - obscenely soft, _ready._  
Alex moans something, clings to his knees.

_Don't do this._

Albert stares from her reflection, his eyes looking her in the mirror.  
Alex's breathing accelerates ( _shatters_ at his feet, a fallen idol, a victim sacrificed)  
"You are beautiful."

_No._

He holds her against his chest, lulls her with slow, _merciless_ touches.

_Albert._

Alex _comes,_ observes her own orgasm radiate to her face, make her...

_Beautiful._

Alex slides down, a hand on the sheet, the other around Albert's wrist.  
He strokes her forehead (cold fingers, _sticky_ with her own orgasm) comforts her, whispers kind words in her ear.  
_You're beautifu_ l he repeats, and Alex believes him.  
She curls up in the wet curve of his body, sweat and _more._  
Albert holds her, Alex sighs.  
Sleep is, for the first time, devoid of nightmares.

 

**#9 day - Spilling over the idol, the black and the blue.**

There is something horribly sad in the way he consumes her.  
He thrusts in her slowly, languid. _Deeply._  
He stifled a gasp on her skin, _hungry_ lips.  
Albert holds her as if she could escape at any moment ( _will do_ ) as if he could already read their story (a tragedy in disguise, a grotesque comedy of the absurd)  
Alex doesn't know that he will die **and** then come back ( **and** then die, again. Forever, this time)  
Albert can't know who really is the woman arching her hips against his, this pale, angular profile that is left devoured by his lust.

_But the Progenitor yes. As a god and unfathomable tyrant, the Progenitor knows - **sees.**_

She takes his face in her hands, begged him to look at her.

 _Because there will be no tomorrow._  
_Because a similar sentiment cannot be contemplated in their lives._  
_Because it is the only way she knows to protect him._

Albert opens his eyes, gives her a look as cold and clear as the winter that is raging out of the room.

_The next time she will see his eyes they will be red, storms of blood and gold._

Alex _comes,_ welcomes Albert orgasm with a groan full of despair.  
She will realize she is crying only when his hands will touch her face in the last caress given by mortal man.

 

**#10 day - The sweetest submission, drinking it in; the wine, the women, the bedroom hymns.**

The snow has stopped falling; their desire to consume. (for now)  
He brushes her back with his fingertips, draws imaginary figures on her thin skin.  
Alex closes her eyes, relaxes against his chest.  
"Tomorrow I'll have to go back to the lab."  
A sigh; a nod.  
"The excuse of flu is no longer credible."  
Alex flatters with the index the Wesker's abdomen, unaware of touching the point where the Tyrant will sink his nails.  
"William will pestering me with questions."  
"If he hasn't already killed himself with snacks."  
Albert laughs, a rare sound.

_Strange._

"When you come back?"  
It is an innocent question.  
It is a legitimate question; _normal._

_It is a question to which she doesn't want answer._

"Tuesday, maybe." and she leans her face towards his, encircle his hips with her thighs - slipping on his body.  
Albert doesn't look away, caressing the soft curve of her buttocks.  
"You're lying." he claws the back of her head, breathes the answer on her mouth.  
"No."  
Albert searches for her eyes, _digging_ through the thousand cracks of her soul.  
"Liar."  
Alex remains silent, eludes his grasp.

_I'm sorry._

The Progenitor _roars_ and the world shrinks to just two of them.

 

**#11 day - I'm not here looking for absolution, because I found myself an old solution.**

She has still wet hair, golden threads that glide along the shoulders, around her face.  
Wrapped in one of his shirts (she wanted it at all costs, with _all_ her force) she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, uncertain.  
Albert fastens the watch, lets it slide down to his wrist.  
"If you want to stay, _stay_."  
Alex bites her lip, bows her head.  
Her fingers sinks into her arms, along the cheekbones drops of water that seems tears.  
"Alexandra."  
Silence.  
"Alexandra." he calls her, and she answers.  
He didn't ask if it's all right.  
He will not tell her that for one _terrible_ moment, it all seemed so _right_ that it was almost painful.  
He will not say any of that, because the Progenitor already whines from the corners of his mind, _barks_ like a chained dog.

_Like a heart beat tearing apart._

Alex paints a smile, walking toward him.  
Bare feet leave small footprints on the floor, her arms encircling his waist.  
"See you later." she only says, and will spend at least thirteen years before this promise is kept.  
Albert kisses her forehead, cheeks, mouth.  
Everything has the taste of ashes.

  
**Early this morning,**  
**when you knocked upon my door**  
**and I said "hello Satan"**  
**I believe it's time to go.**

"I killed him."  
"I know."  
"Krono has fallen."  
"Long life to Zeus."  
It's been exactly thirteen years, four months and two days _since._

  
**Me and the Devil**  
**was walking side by side.**

They have changed; _the story_ has changed them.  
Albert has the same high cheekbones, the same square jaw, even the same smile off-key, out of sync. (and yet everything is different, always the same)  
Alex coughing, expectorates blood and bile.  
"You're dying."  
"All of us _are dying_ , Albert. It's called biology. Most fools call it _God._ "  
"And how do you call it, _Alexandra_?"  
Alex presses her fingers into a fist, she sighs.  
"Destiny."  
Albert gets up, holds out his hand for her.  
The new god has just decided to rewrite each page penned by the previous.

  
**And now all your love will be exorcised**  
**And we will find you saints to be canonized**  
**And it's an even song.**

She searches him on his mouth, between his thighs.  
She brushes his desire, let herself consume by a feeling full of regrets and secrets.  
Albert tries to get up, Alex pushes him down - _controls him._

_Dominates him._

Regular movements, which then increase in intensity; warm hands, _demanding._  
Albert bows his head, _comes._  
Alex surrounds him with her lips, sighing along his erection.  
_He_ takes her by her shoulders, _she_ scratches his chest; _he_ kisses her, _she_ bites him; _they_ lick the same taste - two animals fighting **and** mating each other with the same voracity.  
The Progenitor coils around their hearts and _clench._

  
**It's a melody**  
**It's a battle cry**  
**It's a symphony.**

It is an old scene; snapshot already seen - _already lived._  
Albert slips on his gloves, the watch.  
"You can stay if you want, you know?"

_Same proposal, different voice._

Alex rocking on her heels, leaning to the adjacent wall.  
In the folds of his shirt glimpsed wet remnants of her pale skin, the soft curve of her breasts, her flat and tight abdomen.  
"I know."  
Alex bites her lip, her hair dripping on the floor.  
"I'll come back." he adds, taking off his glasses from the jacket.  
Alex nods, approaching him to touch his face with her fingertips.  
"Thank you." she tells him, and Albert nods, leaning toward her mouth.

_Nothing changes, everything changes._

Chris Redfield will break that promise only two weeks later.

 

  
**"Something wicked singing in the wind**  
**Devils dances waiting to begin**  
**Hear it calling, hear how it whispers.**  
**I will find you**  
**I'll come and find you."**  
**\- In the Groove -**

**Author's Note:**

> Song:  
> a) "Bedroom hymns", Florence + The Machine.  
> b) "Seven Devils", Florence + The Machine.  
> c) "Me and the Devil", Soap and Skin.
> 
> To Remnant, because you are always so kind and beautiful with me.  
> To sadlittletiger, because you are a great author and your Wesker is amazing.


End file.
